


We Have.... Lifdoff

by TriadicUniverse



Series: Captain's Log: The Scout Ship Typheus [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternian Culture is shit, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of slavery and casteism, Multi, Of the Helmsman variety, Species Swap, Trollstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2018-11-13 03:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11175909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriadicUniverse/pseuds/TriadicUniverse
Summary: ...it was good to have friends in high places. Violet, fishy places, to be precise. Rosali Lalond (good princess, best moirail) might have peered into her magic crystal ball and just happened to foresee that giving her friends a kickass assignment would bring good fortune to the Empire. It would be unwise to ignore Oracle Farsight’s advice, which was how Johnne had found himself in possession of the Scout ShipTypheus; a research and exploration vessel designed to navigate the uncharted edges of the Empire.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Trollstuck! This AU has been a long time coming, but I'm very excited and hope to continue writing for it. This is indeed the AU I promised in A Trollstuck Teaser (which will never be finished, but is still canon to this timeline). I don't have a cohesive plot in mind as much as ideas for various drabbles within this universe, and there are quite a few--now, if only I could figure out how to write as often as I'd like. Anyhow, y'all are more than welcome to ask questions or send requests in the comments or on my tumblr (triadicuniverse.tumblr.com). Hope you enjoy!

This sweep’s graduates of the Alternian Empire’s highblood academies had just received their assignments. Most bright-eyed young bluebloods could expect to spend the next ten to fifty sweeps as a grunt on some seadweller’s warship, or at best a soldier in the invasion fleet. Almost none would be getting a position as Captain over a shiny new ship, ready to explore the vast reaches of the universe. It helped that Johnne Egbert had performed pretty well at the academy; more importantly, Jadite Harley, who would be serving as Chief Scientific Officer, was both Johnne’s good friend and something of an incredible fucking genius. And sure, it was good to have friends in high places. Violet, fishy places, to be precise. Rosali Lalond (good princess, best moirail) might just have peered into her magic crystal ball and just happened to foresee that giving her friends a kickass assignment would bring good fortune to the Empire. It would be unwise to ignore Oracle Farsight’s advice, which was how Johnne had found himself in possession of the Scout Ship _Typheus_ ; a research and exploration vessel designed to navigate the uncharted edges of the Empire. 

“It’s not that great a ship,” Jadite remarked after seeing it for the first time.

“Yes it is, shut up,” was Johnne’s mature and professional response. 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure these missions are designed to send problem scientists out to die in deep space, so…”

“Okay, but have you considered, that this is going to be awesome?”

Jadite said something about the exterior not being adequately prepared for the extreme conditions they were likely to experience, and she’d probably have to overhaul some of the lab space to properly contain alien contaminants. Johnne wasn’t fooled; he knew his dear friend had been daydreaming about cool aliens and weird plants ever since they started at the academy. Besides, this was a chance for them to operate outside the confines of the military’s rigid chain of command, work within their strengths, and make some real discoveries, glory to the Empire. 

The Typheus was designed for a small crew; they would have four. Well, officially it was three, but Johnne and Jadite counted their friend Davidh as well. Yes, technically, he was registered as Johnne’s slave, which he had agreed to in order to avoid a far worse fate. The hemospectrum wouldn’t count for much when they were in deep space; it was more important to be surrounded by friends. 

Rosali wasn’t coming with them, since this assignment was way below her pay grade, and it was hard to choose a dinky little scout vessel over a swanky ocean palace.

“I think it would be advantageous for me to remain closer to the heart of the Empire,” she said. “Someone will have to cover your asses when you inevitably get into trouble.”

Johnne and Jadite assumed identical expressions of innocence—’who, us?’—but it was somewhat undercut when Jadite began to giggle.

Instead of her, their fourth would be an acquaintance of Jadite’s from the academy. Jakove Englis had some scientific training, enough to assist Jadite with her work and to be an extra pair of hands around the ship. Johnne didn’t know him well, but based on their few conversations, he seemed to be as excited as all the rest of them combined.

It wasn’t until shortly before the scheduled launch that Johnne was reminded that their would be a fifth troll on the Typheus, a fact that he had done his best not to remember.

It wasn’t very captain-like, but Johnne couldn’t help but drag his feet on his way to the helmsblock. He’d known that this was part of the package of having his own ship. The academy had drilled him relentlessly on the necessity and basic functions of the helmsman, especially once it became apparent that he was going to be out in uncharted space. Johnne was a damn good pilot, and had a pretty solid understanding of systems that would be powering his ship, and yet somehow it hadn’t felt real until now.

“I don’t wanna do this,” he whispered, so that no one but Jadite would be able to hear the promising young highblood captain whining like a wiggler. “Can’t you do the final inspection? You know way more about energy and psi systems than I do, anyway.”

His dear friend was unmoved. “You’re the captain!” she said, dragging him along by his wrist. “This is your responsibility, not mine. And I got kicked out of my psi systems course.” As a final project, she had constructed a generator to run on nuclear power rather than psi, insisting that it was far more efficient, less likely to break down, and didn’t have to be switched out every ten sweeps or so when the helmsman died a horrific death. She then had several choice words for the instructor when he gave her a failing grade and told her that ‘midbloods should do as they’re told.’ That was beside the point, however.

Johnne grumbled all the way to the helmsblock, and fine, Jadite couldn’t help but sympathize. It was backbreaking work, getting a ship ready to fly, but this task was probably the nastiest, especially for highbloods like Johnne who suffered from a rare and probably cull-worthy disease called ‘having a fucking shred of empathy.’ Still, if they all held their noses and did what they needed to do, there was a very real chance of getting off the ground by the end of the dark season! That, at least, was worthy of celebration, right?

Frantic babbling greeted the two of them as they drew near. Most of it was utter nonsense, but every once in a while they would hear mathematical formulas, a description of the helming process, and increasingly frequent pleas for help. Johnne and Jadite grimaced in unison. She took his hand, gave it a squeeze, and let go. Holding their breath, the two of them finally entered.

The soon-to-be helmsman was strung up in the center of the helmsblock. His wrists and ankles were chained in place, while a small team of surgeons prepared to finish the procedure. Each of them saluted as Johnne approached, and one gave him a status report as the others worked. 

“This is Dhirkk Stridr; just under ten sweeps, mid-level psionic, should be more than adequate for a vessel of this size. He’s already been calibrated, and it’ll only take a few hours to attach him to the ship. We’re ready to continue on your command, sir.”

Dhirkk reflexively snapped his teeth in the direction of a technician that was fussing with the ports on his back. The bite didn't land, of course, not while he was bound and barely aware of where he was and who was here with him. Words continued to spill from his lips, even though he was probably unable to hear his own voice. "Hadda get y'rself shot, stupid bird, stupid fuckin' bird, couldn't even screech at me'n I needed you to..." 

Johnne did his best not to visibly recoil. It was one thing to take an exam on how exactly one attached a psionic’s nerves to an electrical system (which had been admittedly awful); seeing the process in person was far worse. “Aren’t they supposed to be unconscious for this?” he said. Not that Stridr was particularly lucid, but it sure seemed like it would hurt once they started really fucking around with his spinal cord.

“The standard aesthetic has been ineffective,” the surgeon explained. “It won’t interfere with the procedure, but increasing or changing the dosage will.”

“Won’t that hurt though?” Johnne didn’t care if it was a stupid question; it was out of his mouth before he could give it a second thought, anyway. 

The midblood surgeon was extremely careful not to demonstrate any signs of impatience. “All helmsmen experience pain,” they said. “This one will just start a little bit earlier. It really isn’t a problem, sir. We just need you to do a quick inspection, and with your approval we can get to work.”

Johnne and Jadite exchanged a helpless glance. Without any other ideas, he nodded curtly and said, “Fine. Harley, help me take a look.”

From what Johnne could see, the helmsman really had been calibrated and prepared properly. Several ports lined his spine from the base of his neck to his lower back, allowing for the integration of the ship with his nervous system. It was the first time Johnne had seen it in person. It turned his stomach, but not as much as the way Stridr shuddered, while useless sparks leaped between his horns. 

“This isn’t going to work,” Johnne said. Once again, his mouth moved before he could fully process what he was saying. Suddenly, all eyes in the room were on him. For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the ship’s systems and the helmsman quietly beatboxing.

“What’s wrong, highblood?” the surgeon said, carefully hiding their exasperation.

Johnne put on his best stern captain voice and said, “The helmsman can’t be integrated, obviously. Harley, tell them.”

Jadite was probably going to kick his ass for that later, but for now, she didn’t bat an eye. “We’ve been having some problems with the environmental controls in the lab. Nothing we can’t fix in a few nights, but you know how delicate the helming process is. If we do it now, all of those problems will just be so much more complex, and then we might even have to come in and rewire the helmsman anyway!”

Thank the stars for Jadite Harley. The team of surgeons appeared suspicious, but could not find a reason to argue. They would still get paid for their time, whether or not they finished the procedure. 

“Fine,” the lead doctor finally said. “The psionic restraints should hold indefinitely. If anything happens, we’re no longer liable.”

“Roger that!” Johnne said with an inappropriate level of enthusiasm. The surgeons and technicians were keen enough to leave, and yet he still ended up rushing them out of the Helmsblock as quickly as he could manage. When the heavy doors finally shut, leaving the captain and head scientist in with their unfinished, babbling engine, Johnne let out a sigh of relief, despite the fact that they now had another problem to deal with.

As soon as they were alone, Jadite was immediately moving to unfasten the chains holding Stridr in place. This, of course, left him with nothing to hold him up, and the poor bastard dropped like a stone. Johnne was able to catch him without much difficulty, although accidentally brushing his ports made him jerk in pain. The would-be helmsman wasn’t as scrawny as the stereotypical psionic, but he was still small, and in awful shape; at the moment, he could do little more than twitch weakly in the highblood’s arms.

There was a moment of oppressive silence, broken only by Stridr’s ragged breath and mumbled nonsense, but finally Jadite said, “You didn’t think this far ahead, did you?”

Johnne couldn’t answer except to grin sheepishly, but fortunately, he didn’t need to. Jadite was already deep in though, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. “I can set him up in the lab,” she said. “But we need to figure out what we’re doing next.”

Johnne nodded solemnly and slung the psionic over his shoulder. Dhirkk let out a strangled gasp, and as he was carried out of the helmsblock he babbled, “I’m sorry I’m sorry, I changed my mind…”

—

Jadite felt a little bit guilty about strapping the would-have-been helmsman down, but he was being really squirmy for a guy who was supposed to be unconscious! It was a good thing she and Johnne had intervened when they did; waking up to find that you were wired into a ship was hellish enough—being even half-awake through the wiring process would be infinitely worse. Still, after one of the psionic’s flailing limbs hit her redblooded assistant square in the mouth, Jadite made the executive decision to strap him to the cot and make life easier on all of them.

Well, maybe not all of them. The poor psionic was still having a pretty bad time. Although he was moving around and talking a lot of shit, Jadite was willing to bet he wasn’t lucid. Either way, he was pretty obviously distressed; his cheeks were stained with ochre tears, and half the time the sounds coming out of his mouth were little more than frantic pleading. 

“How long is he gonna be like this?” Davidh said, carefully rubbing at his bruised upper lip. His expression and tone of voice were deliberately even, but Jadite recognized the tension in the set of his shoulders, and was hardly surprised that he was upset. She was starting to be pretty upset as well. 

“The anesthetic was supposed to keep him unconscious for the duration of the installation,” she said. “So, a couple hours? But it’s already not working, so who knows. The important thing is that someone’s here when he wakes up.”

That was Davidh’s cue to leave and turn his attention to something less upsetting, but if he got the hint, he pretended not to. Instead, he dragged another chair up beside the helmsman’s cot and sat down. The unfortunate drugged-up psionic had begun to make bird sounds. Davidh made bird sounds back. Dhirkk went silent, then choked out a sob. Jadite gave her friend a well-deserved swat across the side of the head (although she was careful not to give him another bruise).

The last thing Davidh wanted was to be left alone with their drugged-up guest, but as the Head Scientist of the brand new vessel, it wasn’t long before Jadite was called off to deal with another task. He assured her that he had everything under control, taking care not to let the sickening dread he felt seep into his voice. 

-

GT: Im telling you chum you can just come and hide out on my island! Its barely even charted and no one will ever think to look there. 

TT: How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to do that? It's an outright necessity for me to be on the run, and I won't risk throwing you under the bus if anyone ever connects you to me. 

GT: Confound it why do you have to be so thickheaded? Youre blowing this vastly out of proportion acting as if youre some kind of public enemy of the empire! No one is going to be trying nearly as hard to look for you as you are making it out to be so buck up find an isolated patch of wilderness and take it down a fucking notch! 

TT: As charming as your naivety is, you vastly underestimate how strictly helmsman-grade psychics are controlled by the empire. I am already on record, and thus it won't be nearly as easy for me to disappear as you seem to think it will. I'm sorry for not wanting you to die a painful and horrific death if you are charged with somehow helping me evade enlistment. 

GT: Horseshit! That is nothing but a patented stridr-brand basket of equine feces and on some level you know that as well. You dont have to do this alone.

TT: Yes, I do, haven't you been listening? I appreciate the offer, I really do. You're a good friend, Jakove. 

GT: Do not get sappy with me stridr. Im not ready to say goodbye to you just yet. 

TT: Of course, my mistake. 

TT: I might have to leave you with a fond 'later, bro,' however. My lusus is a-chatterin' some hella sick birdy beats, and these rhymes aren't gonna spin themselves. 

GT: Sigh. Farewell my friend! I recommend hot soup and plenty of rest and those ill beats will feel better in no time. 

TT: Word.

-

If Jakove had really known that that really would be his last conversation with his dear friend, he might have been more reluctant to let Dhirkk sign off. It had been a few nights, and although Stridr could be elusive at times, he had promised to call and extend his congratulations before Jakove went off-planet. Dhirkk never would have let him leave without saying goodbye, but the call had never come. All Jakove could do was hope that his friend was hiding, just like he always said he would, and was simply too paranoid to make contact. He didn’t let any other possibility cross his mind, even as he read their last conversation over and over again.

Thinking about whatever fate might have befallen Dhirkk made Jakove’s gastric sac turn something awful. Fortunately, preparing for The Typheus’s departure was a helpful distraction. Living and working on a scientific exploration vessel was surely everything he had dreamed of. While not a traditionally trained technician or scientific genius like Jadite, Jakove knew his way around some complicated equipment, especially after spending a good portion of his childhood going back and forth with… fuck. That wasn’t important right now; he was too busy looking forward to exploring the stars, making new discoveries at the farthest reaches of the Empire! Thoughts like these helped him maintain his sunny disposition, even through all the rush of preparing for the ship’s maiden voyage. 

Jadite, busy as she was, had to take care of some sort of business with some technicians working on the lower deck, leaving Jakove to set up some of the less delicate lab equipment. It was this that brought him into the lab, carrying some heavy and probably extremely expensive doohickey with him. 

He saw Davidh jump to his feet, his expression blank but his body rigid with apprehension, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. That wasn’t what nearly made Jakove drop what he was carrying, however; rather, it was the sight of Dhirkk strapped face-down on a sterile cot, his back swollen and scarred from the preliminary helming operation. Pity and dismay made Jakove’s blood pusher leap into his throat. He set down his heavy cargo with perhaps a bit more force than recommended, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “What in the fresh flipping hell is this?”

Davidh began to say, “Hey wait, listen,” but Jakove didn’t hear him. He had spent much of his childhood desperately hoping for a way to rescue Dhirkk from the doom that awaited him, and now he had just such an opportunity. Without thinking he rushed toward his friend’s side, only to find Davidh blocking the way. The redblood had his hands up in a placating gesture, but his voice carried a terse edge. “Don’t touch him, what the hell are you doing?”

Jakove didn’t know this Stridr very well, but he seemed friendly enough, and he didn’t want to hurt him. But the sight of Dhirkk in such a sorry state was setting his blood on fire, and he surely couldn’t be blamed for acting a little out of sorts. Jakove’s voice was uncharacteristically stern as he said, “Davidh, old pal, I’m going to need you to stand aside.”

He could see the redblood’s eyes narrow behind his shades. Davidh didn’t move, and so it was with no small amount of guilt that Jakove shoved him aside. 

That had been a mistake. The little redblood turned out to be far quicker than anything Jakove had encountered on his island home, and before he even knew what kind of trouble he was in, pain blossomed from two sharp strikes to his knee and abdomen. Jakove barely had time to cry out before Davidh knocked his legs out from under him, and he dropped like a sack of rocks. Next thing he knew, he was staring up at the ceiling, the sharp point of a blade at his throat. 

Above him, Dhirkk moaned in pain, and Jakove thought he might cry. Davidh had a foot planted on his chest and a sword at the ready; with nothing else to do but beg, Jakove did just that. “Oh Davidh please, this is wrong, you know it is! We have to let him go!”

The redblood hadn’t raised his voice once the entire time Jakove had known him, and he didn’t now, although it certainly seemed like he was thinking about it. “Holy shit, would you hold your horses for two goddamn seconds?”

The last thing Jakove wanted to do was hold his horses, but he might have considered it—or he might have, if Dhirkk didn’t then say his name with such pain and terror in his voice that the poor greenblood saw red. Without thinking he surged upward in a desperate lunge. Davidh was kind enough to yank his sword back before Jakove impaled himself on it, but he could do nothing else before the larger troll slammed into him in a full-body tackle. As soon as Jakove got a hold of him, the redblood had firmly lost the upper hand, but that didn’t stop him from thrashing like a wild animal, and it certainly didn’t stop him from yelling at the top of his lungs, “Jadite!”

Loud footsteps could be heard approaching the lab, and they were rapidly growing louder. At that moment Jakove realized that this had all gone pretty fucking pear-shaped. Then the lab door was slamming open, and oh, Jadite Harley did not look pleased. Jakove supposed he could relate to the fury that came from seeing one’s lowblood friend in danger, but this didn’t make her withering glare any easier to withstand.

Well, he had come this far. Jakove gathered what remained of his courage and said, “L-let my friend go, or I swear I’ll…”

Jadite bared her teeth and snarled, a low, bestial sound. Jakove dropped the redblood without any further prompting, and Davidh was quick to scramble away. 

The lab was deathly silent, except for Dhirkk; he might have been more lucid than when Jadite last checked on him, but he certainly was not all there. His voice was strained and cracked something awful, and yet he continued to plead, “Jakove, don’t—get him out of here, don't let him do anything stupid for me!"

Jadite’s glare softened just a little, but Jakove didn’t notice. Grief and frustration made his breath catch, and he exclaimed, “Stridr, you insufferable horse’s ass, who do you think is doing the rescuing at the moment!” 

Dhirkk wasn’t in much of a state to answer, but the other Stridr was. “Yeah, how’s that going for you, bro?” Davidh said icily. The comment wasn’t necessary; Jakove already felt like an idiot. He couldn’t know what the consequences of his failure would be, but he could guess. He hid his face in his hands. 

He heard Jadite move toward him, and fully expected to get socked in the face. Instead, when he opened her eyes, she was hovering over Dhirkk, checking to see if his condition had changed. The poor troll was trembling violently, and Jakove had to guess that it was only exhaustion and weakness that kept him from struggling against his bonds. “Jakove—what is he doing here?” His voice was hoarse, but the clearest it had been since Johnne and Jadite first heard him babbling in the helmsblock. “What’s going on?”

Only now did it occur to Jakove that the ship’s lab was nowhere near helmsblock, and although he wasn’t an expert in psi systems and installation procedures, he couldn’t think of any reason Dhirkk would be here. Hesitantly, as if voicing his concerns would break some sort of spell that had fallen over the room, he said, “The gent has a point. I, ahem, can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on some crucial tidbits here. What is going on?”

The way Jadite looked at him clearly said that he was still in the doghouse, but her gaze had none of the fury from before. One hand rested gently on Dhirkk’s shoulder as she spoke. “Honestly?” she said. “I’m not entirely sure, either. But I guess we do have some explaining to do.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dhirkk Stridr knew exactly what fate had in store for him. There was only one place in troll society for psychics with his particular talents, and after a particularly masochistic phase in which he researched the process of helming in excruciating detail, he was practically an expert in the torture to which his wrigglerhood was little more than a short, miserable countdown."

Dhirkk Stridr knew exactly what fate had in store for him. There was only one place in troll society for psychics with his particular talents, and after a particularly masochistic phase in which he researched the process of helming in excruciating detail, he was practically an expert in the torture to which his wrigglerhood was little more than a short, miserable countdown.

This was not to say he did nothing to try and save himself. In fact, he made a heroic effort to do just that. Over the course of a sweep he rigged a complex systems of radar and early-warning systems all around his coastal hive. He slotted together guard droids out of what scraps he could scavenge or afford, in the hopes that they could buy him time to flee when the helms-hunters inevitably came knocking. By the time he hit nine sweeps, he was as prepared as he could be--or so he thought.

Dirk had turned his hive into a fortress, and thus he was entirely taken by surprise when his doom came while he was out fishing. His first warning came subtly, when he realized that he had heard nary a squawk from his normally-chatty seagull lusus in at least ten minutes. With a vague sense of dread, he exchanged his fishing pole for his katana and went to investigate. What he found made his blood pusher plunge into the pit of his stomach; his beloved feathery asshole of a guardian lay sprawled out on the sand, both wings broken and head half-vaporized from the force of a blaster.

The grief had scarcely set in before a concussive blast rang out over the beach, and too late Dirk recognized the sonic-powered psi-suppressor for what it was. The aftermath of the blast left his head throbbing and horns sparking uselessly. His limbs were heavy and his body numb, and the footsteps charging toward him sounded deceptively distant. Sorrow turned to desperation, which threatened panic, and Dhirkk bolted, but he knew that he was doomed long before a much larger body dragged his to the ground. His head hit the sand, and a cloth soaked in some sickly-sweet chemical was pressed over his nose and mouth. The last thing he remembered seeing were pale feathers blurring before him, stark white against the sand.

Consciousness came and went slowly. Despite being drugged into a docile stupor, Dirk managed to register the sharp pain in his spine as the newly-installed ports that would link him to some lucky motherfucker's ship. That was about all he could feel, aside from his pulsing headache. His arms and legs were numb, and although Dirk knew that it wasn't standard procedure to amputate a helmsman's limbs anymore, he couldn't help the panic that felt like iron bars wrapped around his ribcage. He tried to struggle, and didn't know if he succeeded; he couldn't feel himself move. He didn't know if his eyes were open or closed; either way, he couldn't see. In contrast, the smell of antiseptic was overpowering, filling his nostrils and making the pain in his head even more unbearable.

For a long while, he was positive that he had imagined Jakove’s voice. No matter how he tried to force the thoughts away, he couldn’t help but fantasize that his dear friend had come to his rescue. That, of course, only served to make his present situation appear even worse by comparison.

How much time had passed? Minutes? Nights? Dhirkk felt fingers in his hair, scratching at the base of his horns. It seemed like it should have felt nice, but every touch sent jolts of pain from his horns down the back of his neck. Then again, he was already in so much pain that it barely made a difference.

“Oh! He’s opened his eyes again,” came a voice, familiar, and yet it sounded impossibly distant. “Are you back with us, lad?”

Dhirkk tried to speak. He didn’t know if he succeeded, but he heard half-hearted laughter from the same voice.

“You really aren’t feeling up to dick, are you? Can’t say I blame you, you look like a damn pincushion with all these gadgets attached to you. Could make a fella feel woozy just taking a gander, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

This troll had such a stupid way of saying words. Dhirkk felt improbably and overwhelmingly flushed and didn’t quite know why, but he decided that the horn scratches he was getting were acceptable, in this case. He registered, on some level, that he had his eyes open. It took all of his concentration to process the shapes and colors in front of him into the recognizable form of a troll. He saw pronged horns, green eyes, an unfairly handsome face. His mouth moved without his permission, and he didn’t know what he said, but whatever it was made the strange troll laugh.

“Ha! Stridr, you are quite the cake eater, even when you are sauced something awful. But how about you settle down for a spell? You’re in awfully rough shape.”

A broad-palmed hand firmly papped his cheek, and Dhirkk’s eyes rolled back in his head. Another voice, unfamiliar, said, “Jesus dicks, Englis, warn me before you drive up the rating on this shit. Here I thought we were at T for language and mild violence, but papping a guy when he’s down? That’s pretty fuckin’ NSFW (not safe for wigglers) if you ask me.”

Dhirkk’s green-eyed angel startled, jerking his hand away (to Dhirkk’s great distress) and fluttering nervously. “Hush, you! That wasn’t a proper pap, just your run-of-the-mill caress between bros. Can’t I comfort a friend without it being exaggerated into some big stinking deal? Besides, I’m positive he doesn’t care for me that way; I couldn’t do that to him.”

He was right there; Dhirkk could use a solid papping, but the things he was feeling were certainly not pale. He wondered if this handsome stranger would put those glorious papping hands to a better use, to hell with a tender bro caress. Not safe for wigglers indeed.

Dhirkk’s greenblood was still blushing, and now the other troll was cackling. “Oh my god, he is so fuckin’ high right now. Are you getting this, Englis? This is solid gold.” Dhirkk had a sinking feeling he had said at least some of that out loud, but that was a problem for sober Dhirkk.

An electronic door opened on the other side of the room. Dhirkk couldn’t see it from his perspective, but he could hear the newcomer’s footsteps and voice as she greeted the other trolls in the room. Her voice was also strangely familiar, and friendly. Dhirkk had the previously unknown feeling of being in good hands, despite being in all kinds of agony. “How’s he doing?” she asked.

“Well enough to tell Jakove what he can do what his hands,” the unfamiliar troll said dryly.

“Listen here,” Jakove said sternly. “My friend here is an extremely proud individual and I don’t think he would appreciate being the butt of all these japes while under the weather! At least give the poor sap some privacy!”

Dhirkk barely heard Jakove defending his honor, because the sound of his friend’s name made everything fall into place. The fear that had consumed his childhood, his determination not to drag Jakove down with him, his lusus lying dead in the sand, the combination of helplessness and painful clarity when the anesthetic failed and he was forced to experience every agonizing moment in the helm… With surprising strength, Dhirkk seized Jakove’s arm. His dear friend looked down at him, shocked at the newfound lucidity in his expression.

“Jay—” Dhirkk managed to say before his voice died in his throat. Immediately Jakove reached down to cup his face in both hands. The other two trolls crowded around the hard cot he was lying on. Dhirkk realized he was shuddering, while Jakove tried to shoosh him without crossing the invisible line between intimate and outright pale. Dhirkk didn’t know if he wanted to send Jakove away for his own safety, or curl up in his arms and let himself be cared for, and the indecision as much as the pain froze him in place. Jakove made the decision for him, taking both hands in his own and crouching down so that he was on eye-level.

The moment seemed to drag on, but at the end of it a female troll came into Dhirkk’s view. She looked haggard, as if she hadn’t slept in a long while, but her eyes remained bright and curious. “Dhirkk, can you understand me?” she asked. Dhirkk nodded slowly, and she continued. “My name is Jadite Harley. You’re on the Scout Ship Typheus, which is still under construction. You were assigned to be the ship’s helmsman, but all of us pretty much collectively decided to fuck the system. We’re still figuring out what to do next, but all you have to worry about for now is recovering.”

Dhirkk tried to say something along the lines of, ‘this is a massive breach of protocol’ or ‘you’re all going to fucking die,’ but that proved to be too much for him at the moment, and all that came out was a disoriented grumble. Jadite rolled her eyes and said, “Wow, you do not know how to take a break. You’ve been trying to move and talk since we moved you in here, and you’re just tiring yourself out! When I say focus on recovering, I mean settle the fuck down for a few nights. That is non-negotiable.”

Before Dhirkk could argue, the last troll in the room ambushed him with a bottle of water that Dhirkk realized he desperately needed. As he drank, this troll, a rusty with a broken horn, introduced himself as well. “Davidh Stridr—yeah, same name, how weird is that? I’m the only one here without a fancy academy degree and official job on the ship, so I guess that means I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Woulda packed my sexy nurse costume if I’d known, but hey, what are you gonna do.”

Water had dribbled down Dhirkk’s face by the time Davidh had finished talking, but he couldn’t wipe it away while Jakove still had both his hands. Somehow, this didn’t seem like any real problem. The greenblood smiled, barely hiding the worry in his expression, but so obviously trying to appear optimistic. It made Dhirkk’s blood pusher turn in his chest. “It’s all a bit of a clusterfuck, but I’m sure we can all work something out. Just let us take care of things, and let that magnificent think pan of yours rest for a spell.”

For once in his life, Dhirkk couldn’t bring himself to argue. Still, he was extremely grateful when Jakove waited by his side until, aided by painkillers and the softest of horn scratches, he lost consciousness once more.

—

For the second time in however many perigrees, Johnne thanked the Mirthful Messiahs for Rosali. As soon as he and Jadite removed the helmsman from the engine block, the Typheus had as much flight capability as your average hunk of metal, and heads would roll if they weren’t ready to launch at the scheduled time. So, with all the bluster and bullshit at their disposal, Johnne and Rosali stalled for time. Without warning she summoned Johnne to join her in her palace on the Cetus moon base, and when questioned, explained only that she required the presence of her moirail. With Johnne away, the Typheus was officially grounded, giving Jadite time to put a plan of her own into motion.

Rosali’s pile was unfairly plush, made up of half-knitted sweaters and scarves, suspiciously tentacled stuffed toys, and the occasional ironic crystal ball. A polished wood needle was poking Johnne in the thigh; the voice of Davidh that lived in his head like a horcrux went on a tangent about stiff mammalian cocks. He really had been brushing up on his xenobiology lately.

“If you start grooming me, I’m leaving,” Johnne said, but of course that was bullshit. Furthermore, Rosali hadn’t planned on doing anything of the sort, but as soon as the words left Johnne’s mouth, she leaned down and dragged her tongue through his hair. He squawked and squirmed, but didn’t try very hard to get away. He couldn’t go far anyway, not with his his moirail’s arms wrapped tight around his chest. It wasn’t long at all before he gave up and slumped against her, head pillowed on her rumble spheres. “Gross,” he said, sounding very much like a petulant child.

Rosali’s nose wrinkled, and she plucked a short, dark hair off her tongue.

“Quite,” she said. “It seems that, for once, indulging the first spite-fueled urge that pops into my head may have come back to bite me in the ass.”

“What have we said about indulging spite-fueled urges” Johnne said.

Rosali extended a hand. “Greetings, Mr. Pot. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Johnne broke into a broad grin and returned the offered handshake with a firm grasp. “And to you, Madame Kettle. May I just say that you’re looking awfully black tonight?’

“Black? I daresay I’m feeling rather pale,” Rosali said, and that was the only warning before she scratched around the base of Johnne’s horns just so. He melted without a shred of resistance, making soft sounds that could be felt more than they were heard. He was helpless, then, when Rosali spoke again. “Speaking of spite-fueled urges…”

“Yeah?” Johnne said, his voice soft and rumbly.

“Tell me more about this helmsman of yours.”

Johnne’s eyes snapped open where they had drifted shut. When he looked up, he caught sight of Rosali’s impeccably painted smile and a familiar gleam in her eye. Comprehension dawned, and he said, “Did I fall into a psychoanalysis trap?”

“Yes,” said his dear moirail. “Tell me your darkest secrets. I promise, it's only for your own good."

Johnne stuck his tongue out at her, but it was difficult to be defiant while her fingers continued to comb through his hair. “Ugh, fine. He was gonna be the Typheus’ helms man, but now he’s not.”

“Why is that?” she said.

“What does it matter?” Johnne didn’t know why she was on this topic, but it didn’t seem like she was going to drop it anytime soon. “It’s my ship, and I can do what I fucking want. In this case, what I fucking want is not to hurtle through the frigid depths of space with a barely-alive troll shell keeping everything from weapons to lifesupport up and running.”

“It’s not like you to be afraid of a troll with no agency or power to carry out any malicious intent he might hypothetically harbor toward you.”

“No, that’s not it. I know he can’t do anything, but it’s still fucked up, you know? It’s just gonna be the five of us out there, me, Jadite, Davidh, Jadite’s academy friend, and oh yeah, the poor sap launching us around at light speed at the cost of constant agony and being unable to move his limbs.

Rosali’s smile had curved into a thoughtful frown. “Those helmstrolls can be frightfully pitiful, can’t they?”

“What? No.” Johnne craned his neck back to look directly at his moirail’s upside-down face. “I don’t pity him, or at least not him specifically. It’s just…” He fell silent, searching for words, soothed by his moirail’s continuing ministrations. “It’s really fucking brutal, and for no good reason. You’ve talked to Jadite, you know how we could develop technology that would make helms trolls obsolete. If we can make something better, why shouldn’t we?”

After a moment, Rosali’s lips quirked upward, and she leaned down to kiss the top of Johnne’s head. “You’re so soft,” she said.

“Hey, fuck you? I’m such a deadly and hard core high blood, so you can take your kisses and condesceffectionate words elsewhere!” That, of course, earned him another kiss, complete with a black lipstick smear on his cheek. Johnne groaned dramatically, but all the pretend-wriggling in the world couldn’t free him from his moirail’s iron grasp.

“You are neither of those things,” she said. “You’ve done well enough, regardless. Still, it is my job to be concerned for you, and I intend to keep doing just that. To that end, have you considered my advice?”

“You can’t just say that like you don’t tell me what to do in literally all areas of my life, you meddlesome witch. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Of course, my mistake. I was referring to my advice regarding your romantic pursuits.”

“Oh, the kismesis thing?”

“Indeed. I believe a kismesis would help you hone your aggression and learn how to properly challenge a rival, skills that will only become more relevant as you earn your place among the aristocracy.”

Johnne made a face, but said, “You’re probably right, but I can’t just go out and find one. I don’t feel that way about Davidh or Jadite, and Jakove’s kind of a weenie. And what would I say to someone else? ‘Hey, want to start a committed relationship right before I fuck off to the far corners of the galaxy for god knows how long?”

There was a long moment of silence. Rosali reached for her moirail’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Johnne’s expression softened. “Aww, Ros’, I’m gonna miss you too.”

Once more, her lips curled into a smile. “Soft,” she said, but she didn’t complain when he pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of her hand, and didn’t let go afterward.

—

“My hive ran almost entirely on nuclear power, and I’ve built nuclear engines before. It shouldn’t be hard to adapt a ship this size to run without the use of a helmsman,” Jadite said, fussing with the blueprints from her old hive.

Davidh and Jakove offered a chorus of encouragement and enthusiasm, even if they lacked expertise with such complex equipment. But when Dhirkk started to recover enough to discuss these plans, he demonstrated a surprising amount of mechanical aptitude. Before long, Jadite found herself bringing him into the project as an equal, and between the two of them, they were able to turn a scattered collection of obscure tech and experimental designs into something that might just get them off the ground.

Construction started within the week. Jadite took a hands-on approach to leading the project. Although they didn’t have the same engineering ability, Jakove could read and follow a blueprint with some amount of skill, and Davidh was a quick learner. Dhirkk, who was still at less than full health, focused on keeping everything on schedule and optimally functional.

A video call with Johnne and Rosali showed the former helmsblock completely dismantled, while the four of them installed the new machinery piece-by-piece. Jadite and Jakove were laser-focused, handling something that glowed green and looked both deadly and extremely fragile. The highbloods tried to contain their conversation to the Stridrs rather than distracting them.

“How do I know you’re not turning the ship into a bomb?” Johnne asked, more to be difficult than out of any real concern.

He was gratified by the annoyance that crossed the helmsman-turned-mechanic’s expression. “Harley’s designs are solid,” Dhirkk said. “This thing can generate a shit-ton of power, and I can personally guarantee that there is a zero percent chance of you having to scrape my remains out of the wires in approximately ten sweeps. I can give you the likelihood of the engine going supernova during FTL travel, but those numbers will be pulled directly out of my ass.”

It had taken all of about one conversation with Davidh for Dhirkk to learn that the resident highbloods were probably not going to murder him for poor manners. Of course, they had other ways of getting even.

“What’s the scientific definition of a shit ton?” Johnne asked, feigning genuine curiosity.

“More than an assload, less than a fuckton,” Dhirkk said without missing a beat. “Do they not teach you that in the academy, sir?”

“Ohhhhh shit!” Davidh exclaimed; he was quickly shushed by Jadite.

“We’re trying to focus!”

“It’ll be a miracle if the ship can fly at all if it’s expected to carry such incredible amounts of horseshit,” Rosali said.

Dhirkk nodded solemnly. “I can’t promise we won’t have to eject someone into space, you know, to lighten the load.”

“Or keep someone muzzled!” Jakove interrupted. “Boy howdy, can you lot carry on!”

“I can see we’re not wanted,” Rosali said.

“Fine, we’ll leave you alone,” said Johnne. Half-jokingly, he blew a kiss. Davidh and Jadite mimed catching it almost simultaneously, making their friendcaptain’s grin widen. “See you soon!”


End file.
